Authors: Dante
Purgatorio (35 page)
A neutral space between purgation and paradise
Dante’s third dream on the mountain
Coda: Virgil’s last instructions
As when it strikes with its first rays
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there where its Maker shed His blood,
and noon burns down on the waters of the Ganges,
so stood the sun. And thus day was departing
He stood beyond the flames there on the terrace
and sang
‘Beati mundo corde!’
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with a voice more radiant than ours.
‘There is no going on, you blessèd souls,
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without the fire’s stinging bite. Enter,
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and do not stop your ears against the distant song,’
he said to us once we were near,
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so that, hearing him, I felt
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like a man who has been put into his grave.
I bent forward over my outstretched hands
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and stared into the fire, my mind fixed on the image
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of human bodies I once saw being burned.
Then my kindly escorts turned to me
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and Virgil said: ‘My son,
‘Keep it in mind, keep it in mind—
if even on Geryon I conveyed you safely,
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what shall I do now we are nearer God?
‘You must believe that if you were confined
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in the very belly of this flame a thousand years
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it would not singe a single hair upon your head.
‘And if you think, perhaps, that I deceive you,
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go close to it and test it, holding out
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the hem of your garment in your hands.
‘From now on put away, put away all fear,
head in this direction, come, and boldly enter.’
When he saw me stay, unmoved and obstinate,
he said, somewhat disturbed: ‘Now look, my son,
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this wall stands between Beatrice and you.’
As at the name of Thisbe, though on the point of death,
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Pyramus raised his lids and gazed at her,
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that time the mulberry turned red,
just so, my stubbornness made pliant, I turned
to my wise leader when I heard the name
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that ever blossoms in my mind,
at which he shook his head and said: ‘Well,
are we going to stay on this side?’ then smiled
Then, ahead of me, he was immersed in the fire,
asking Statius, who for a long way now
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had walked between us, to come through last.
As soon as I was in I would have thrown myself
straight into molten glass to cool myself,
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so beyond measure was the burning there,
and my sweet father, to comfort me,
kept speaking of Beatrice as he went,
Guiding us was a voice that sang beyond the flame.
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We gave it our rapt attention,
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and came forth from the fire where the ascent began.
‘Venite, benedicti Patris mei’
resounded
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from a dazzling light that blinded me
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so that I could not bear to look.
‘The sun departs and evening comes,’
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it continued, ‘do not stop, but hurry on
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before the west grows dark.’
The way went straight up through the rock
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so that my body blocked the last rays of the sun,
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now low in the sky, from my path.
We had tried only a few of the steps when we,
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I and my sages, understood, as my shadow faded,
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that the sun had set behind us.
And before the horizon, in all its vast expanse,
had taken on a single hue
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and night had claimed all parts of her domain,
each of us made, of a step, a bed,
for the nature of the mountain took from us
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the power and the urge for climbing higher.
As goats that have been quick and reckless
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on the heights before they grazed
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now peacefully chew their cud,
silent in the shade while the sun is burning,
guarded by the shepherd, leaning on his staff,
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who lets them take their rest,
and as the herdsman who lives out in the open
passes the night beside his quiet flock,
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watching lest a wild beast scatter them,
such were the three of us,
I like a goat and they like shepherds,
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shut in on all sides by walls of rock.
Only a small space could be seen beyond them,
but in that space I saw the stars
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bigger and brighter than usually they are.
Amidst such sights and thoughts
I was seized by sleep, which often knows
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what is to be before it happens.
In the hour, I think, when Cytherea,
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who always seems aflame with fire of love,
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first shone on the mountain from the east,
in a dream I seemed to see a lady,
young and lovely, passing through a meadow
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as she gathered flowers, singing:
‘Let anyone who asks my name know I am Leah,
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and here I move about, using my fair hands
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to weave myself a garland.
‘To be pleased at my reflection I adorn myself,
but my sister Rachel never leaves her mirror,
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sitting before it all day long.
‘She is as eager to gaze into her own fair eyes
as I to adorn myself with my own hands.
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She in seeing, I in doing, find our satisfaction.’
And now, along with the pre-dawn splendors
that, rising, become more welcome to the traveler,
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as, returning, he lodges a little nearer home,
the shadows all around were being put to flight
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and my sleep with them. And I rose up,
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seeing the great masters already risen.
‘That sweet fruit which mortals seek
and strive to find on many boughs
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today shall satisfy your cravings.’
Such were Virgil’s words to me,
and never was there promise of a gift
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that might yield equal pleasure.
Desire upon desire so seized me to ascend
that with every step
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I felt that I was growing wings for flight.